WHEN A MAN SAYS SOMETHING ONCE
August 8th, 2023 | San Francisco, CA
Of Blackened Crowns
By Gaël Samuel
Chapter 8: When A Man Says Something Once
Scene Exploration
Soon, we came upon a crowd. A big one.
It was mostly tan, sun-kissed men. The largest one was standing all the way at the front of the crowd, feet spread apart, thick bulging forearms crossed, glaring at the Ash speaker addressing the crowd.
“We should go,” Hersad said, glancing about at the gathering folk.
Ignoring him, I pushed forward, but felt a surprisingly strong arm grip me.
“We should go.” He repeated, this time with a sharper urgency.
I snatched my arm back, anger flaring, “what is the matter with you? They’re just a bunch of porters.” I spied the Ash speaker retreat as the burly man started to argue with him, veins in his temples showing. “Probably protesting the city’s shit guild wages again,” I said.
But Hersad stood rooted. It was then that I noticed it. The white-haired syph kept looking behind him, to the side, and his right hand held his left in a death grip.
“You alright, Hersad?”
He made a pained expression, then seemed to compose himself, breathing less shallow.
He puffed once. “I am fine. But we shouldn’t be here,” he said for a third time.
That time I heard him. My father had once told me that when a man says something once; he is unsure, twice and he is lying, three times and he is all those things, and afraid.
“Why not?” I prodded the white haired man.
He made the expression again, and this time I did not ignore it. It was a twisted thing, half anguish, half bad memory. All fear. And his right hand clutching his wrist… The body tended to remember pain a lot longer than the mind did.
His eyes, the color of an overcast sky, locked with mine.
“These men are afraid. And fear you can’t understand or do anything about makes people angry. The worst thing to be,” he said, still looking directly at me, “is angry in a place like this.” He jerked his chin toward the throng of people.
It was larger now. Passersby with nothing better to do kept getting drawn in by the commotion, the noise. Slowly but surely, the crowd was becoming a mob.
